


Corruption

by iDiru



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Supernatural
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Chantry Brother Castiel, Corruption, Desire Demon Dean, Dubious Consent, First Time, If you don't understand Dragon Age I have a small dictionary at the top that explains all references, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Vaguely Dragon Age related but nothing extreme, Virgin Castiel, fictional religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iDiru/pseuds/iDiru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel joints the Chantry after they save him from starvation and the elements, devoting his life to religion until a cunning demon makes him question all of his recent choices. Not without a fight, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corruption

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know much about Dragon Age, other than what I've read and played. I did a lot of research to try to make this work but I had to change a few things.  
> Either way, you don't have to have played Dragon Age to read this fanfic.   
> Stay tuned for art at the end of this story, and have a look at this handy dandy dictionary for mentioned terms. 
> 
> The Maker: God, pretty much. 
> 
> Andraste: Prophet of the Maker, who's writings are what the Chantry is based off of.
> 
> The Chantry: A religion that spreads the words of Andraste and tries to convert people to the faith, so that the Maker may return when humanity proves themselves worthy. 
> 
> Revered Mother: Holy mother of the various individual Chantries. 
> 
> Thedas: Where all this shit takes place. A continent. 
> 
> The Veil: Separates the physical world from The Fade, which is where demons and spirits reside, where they were locked away by the Maker. It is weak in some places and allows demons to get through.

                A storm was rolling across the horizon, enveloping the day in darkness like a blight on the land. The sun was already setting, but the black clouds in the sky only chased it further away and left an air of uneasiness drifting about the Chantry. The land, at the moment, was relatively at ease. There were no obvious signs of war in the distance. The countryside wasn’t being ravaged by vicious beasts. All was relatively calm, so the topic of worry as of current was the rumors of a demon that had managed to sneak beyond the veil.

 

                It came to Chantries across Thedas to drag people from their faith and into sin. It seemed content on simply corrupting, and Chantries all over were slowly losing members to the beast. No one was quite sure what happened to them once they disappeared, but it was cause for alarm. Some said that the beast would come to them in the form of a beautiful woman, or a terrifying beast. Some said it would entice either with threats or lust, but no one really knew for sure.

 

                Though most people in the temple knew how to resist, and combat the demon, one did not. One of the younger of the brothers, Castiel, had only come to stay at the Chantry recently. He feared the demon, having not had much contact with beasts such as this before. It was a mystery at how one had not come to him, before. His life had never been easy. Certainly, he must have been an easy target to corruption… He spent his childhood with his mother, the both of them living in a hovel until she was killed in his late teens by bandits. Castiel worked in the fields and harvested for farmers until his mid-twenties. History repeated itself, in terms of where he ended up living. A tiny, beaten down shack somewhere close to the farm he worked for.

 

                He came home one day, exhausted and starving from a hard day’s work. While trying to cook the only food he could afford on the fire, he passed out from exhaustion, and a fire sparked. He was able to get out in time, but not without losing everything but the clothes on his back. The farmers were unsympathetic, and not only denied him temporary living, but fired him because he was no longer useful, as he would be starving and tired all the time.

 

                He spent nearly a month going from town to town, sleeping in stables, stealing food, and starving. When he tried to steal from a member of the Chantry, instead of turning him into the authority, the man took pity on him. He brought him into the temple, gave him food, a bath, and shelter. He was free to leave in the morning and resume his life of crime, or he could serve the Chantry. He was still young, and very sheltered. He knew little about religion, but it was decided by the Revered Mother of the Chantry that he would be allowed to stay in exchange for tending to the temple.

 

                He wasn’t’ given any robes, as he was still very low in the ranks, but he didn’t care. He had a home now, and he decided to devote his life to the Maker and the words of Andraste. Due to his gratitude, while he had no robes, he decided to show his devotion by embroidering the Chantry symbol, in golden thread, onto his tunic, or at least trying. Castiel was a skilled seamstress, but not that skilled.

 

                When night finally fell and the lights faded from the temple, Castiel attempted to sleep, but he was finding it very hard. He slept in the attic, and the thunder and rain pounding down on the roof was all too loud for him. It wasn’t so much the noise that bothered him, but the fear. The loud clap that jerked him from his sleep and had his heart pounding. When he awoke in a cold sweat for the fifth time, shaking and parched, he decided to finally get up. He needed water, and he descended the many stairs to the main floor to draw some from the enclosed well.

 

                He was stopped in his tracks by a loud rapping at the main door, causing him to jump nearly as bad as the thunder. He crept to the door, nervous, unsure of what may be at the door. Was it the demon…?Surely, it would not knock. Sliding the bolt out of the lock, he opened the door just a crack, finding a man standing outside, soaked with rain. A silvery cloak hung on his form, with edges embodied with black lace, a black tunic, pants, and traveling boots adorning the rest of him. There was a tattoo vaguely exposed by the dip in his neckline, with black, sharp edges that looked as though it may have been the symbol of the Chantry.

 

                He looked up at him with eyes that glinted, shining green in the lanterns hanging outside the temple. Tawny hair wet and sticking to his forehead.

“Please, sir…” he said, with a voice too deep to match features that were strangely delicate; masculine, yet beautiful. Though he was not one to talk about voices; his voice was very deep and rough, but Castiel did not find himself delicate or beautiful in the least bit. “My carriage was attacked by bandits some way down the road; I barely escaped with my life. I come to the Chantry with the hope for shelter, for the night or at least until this storm passes. Then I promise you, I will be on my way.”

“Come in,” Castiel said, as he opened the door, shutting it behind him as he entered and bolting the lock again. “I am the only here at the moment, aside from the Revered Mother in her chambers, but I would assume without waking her that she would offer you this kindness, as she did me.”

 

                Castiel drew a match from one of the nearby drawers, and began to light some of the candles as he spoke. “I can find you some bedding, but I cannot invite you deeper into the temple other than where we stand now. I hope that will be okay for you…”

“It’s fine,” the man said, and when Castiel turned to look at him he was following him with his eyes, almost boring into his soul with them. It made him feel a bit intimidated, but he shook the feeling off. It probably had to do with the fact that he was already nervous from this storm…

“Can I ask you your name?”

“Dean,” the man replied, and the kindness his voice had held earlier had diminished some. Though perhaps he was just unhappy with being wet and cold from this storm… Castiel nodded, and headed over to a large cabinet situated in the corner of the room. It held bedding, for just these occasions.

“Can I offer you something to eat? Or drink?” he asked, rummaging through the cabinet.

               

                It was silent for a moment, but when Dean did speak there was something wrong with the way it sounded even before the sentence left his lips. “I would love to eat you…” he said, which in itself was terrifying, but the voice which came from the man he’d let into this Chantry had changed. A voice within his own voice, buried deep beneath his normal tones, sounding like a black darkness that dripped with venom and evil that didn’t quite seem to match the same timing.

 

                He was almost afraid to turn around, swallowing thickly and shutting the cabinet. What stood in the man’s place was not what was there before. His features, while similar, had been dramatically changed. He stood nearly naked, the only real covering being two, small golden shields held in place by loose strings and lace, in the front and the back, from what he could see between his legs. Golden, gemmed chains hanging from the coverings, lying against his bare legs.

 

                There were shimmering golden bracelets, necklaces and chokers draped along his frame as though he were collecting them, hanging above the frosted gold piercings through his nipples. Pale skin, dotted with patterns of purple scales. Fingers tipped black like they had died long ago, with black claws and golden rings adorning them. He noted a golden claw ring on each index finger, with silver and blue designs that he couldn’t quite make out.

 

Four gnarled horns sprouting from his head above eyes that would now be a soulless black, were it not for the occasional glimmering, glowing purple from the center. They were almost lost at the black scaled skin around his eyes that extended towards his knife-like ears, interrupted by the bright purple that streaked down his face. Or rather, it seemed that his face was cracked, and beautiful, shimmering violet lights streamed out like dancing rays of the Maker himself. This was no woman, this was beast, but damn if this wasn’t the very embodiment of beauty, desire, and sin…

 

He went to scream; to alert the Revered Mother that the demon of rumor had entered their abode. Was tainting this holy place with sin that practically radiated from him like black shadows, creeping along the walls and enveloping the place in darkness. It was purely metaphorical, but it was how he imagined it. The scream never left his lips though, his voice dying before it ever left his throat. The demon smiled a smile filled with sharp fangs and venom, as he sauntered towards him, a leathery, black tail swinging behind him.

 

“I am going to devour you…I’m going to taste your innocence, drink your devotion…swallow your screams, and you are going to let me.”

 

                Before he could protest, Dean shoved him against the altar in the center of the room. He scrambled, pushing unlit candles and various other items of worship to the floor with a clatter.

“I will not fall for your wiles, demon!”

“Who said I wished to trick you?”

“Do you think I’d simply waltz with you into the pit of sin willingly?”

“You certainly don’t need to be willing…But I can make you willing”

 

                It was typical that a demon wouldn’t ask his permission before trying to corrupt him, or whatever it was he was trying to do. The demon put his weight on him, his blackened fingers grasping his chin, claws and ring scraping at his cheek as he looked down at him with those glowing eyes.

“I know what you truly want, even if you don’t. You are most concerned with your baser instincts; food and shelter, but deep down you want to be loved, and I can make you feel _beautiful_.”

“I am a brother of the chantry, and you know nothing of what I want,” Castiel hissed, but it only earned a laugh from him.

“I am a demon of desire, and I _know_ what you desire. Deep in your heart you regret devoting your life to the Chantry, so young in life when you’ve known so little love. Other than your mother…I can be your mother, is that what you’d like?”

“Get off me!” Castiel shouted, feeling a surge of anger in his chest. “You have no right to speak of her!” In response, he went to clutch the amulet she had given him for comfort, but Dean pushed his hand away.

“Hush, now…” Dean said, almost teasingly. With a swift movement, the demon captured his lips and a kiss, and at first he wanted to fight. But the longer he melded those lips against his, the more he began to feel intoxicated. It smelled like flowers, cinnamon, apples and spice. It tasted like the sweetest of meads and it felt like sunshine. It was wonderful; it was intoxicating. But no matter how sweet the poisoned wine, the cyanide was still just as deadly, and this was what this was; poison. Sin and poison. Deep in the back of his mind, he was fighting; he wanted to break free, but he tasted so sweet.

 

                Dean pulled away, and ran a forked tongue over Castiel’s lip before looking down at him with amusement. He was left panting, wanting, needing…no, this was sin. This was the demon he’d been warned about, he couldn’t fall prey to its games.

“Your pupils are so blown I can nearly see into your head…” Dean chuckled, pushing his weight against him again and grinding his crotch against the front of his dark trousers. Castiel wanted to pull away, run and alert the Revered Mother, but he found himself subconsciously repeating the action.

“You may think that I’ve poisoned you, but the truth is, I only helped to bring desire to the surface,” he said, and replaced his hips with his hand, reaching between his legs and roughly rubbing his fingers between them. “You may think you’ve devoted yourself but celibacy, but in reality you’ve always been curious. You’ve never once been touched, and yet you lock yourself away and vow to never _be_ touched.”

 

                Castiel had to bite down on his lip to muffle the noise he almost made, shaking his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. Dean’s hand continued to rub roughly between his legs, and he cursed inwardly at himself as he let out a low whimper.

“You see how _good_ I can make you feel?” Dean asked.

“Why…” Castiel said, swallowing thickly and trying to close his thighs around Dean’s hand, but it didn’t do much. “Why do you do this? Why do you corrupt members from the Chantry? What do you do with them?”

“Because we were locked away by your Maker. He abandoned us to create all of you. And so why wouldn’t I corrupt members of a religion that seeks to bring him back to Earth by spreading the words of Andraste? It’s the principal of the thing…also, it’s an even lower blow to let demons possess Chantry members.”

“So you possess them?” Castiel said, his voice shaking, with his slightly labored breathing.

“No. I only corrupt, and bring them to the weakest parts of the veil so that my brethren may cross over and live as mortals.”

“And so you intend to possess me? I won’t allow it…”

“Oh, no. You’re special…I’ve been looking for someone I really like for some time, to simply worship me. To become my companion. I like you.”

“I will never worship you. You are the incarnate of sin…you disgust me!”

“I will have you worshipping me by the end of the night,” Dean said, flashing those fangs again.

 

                Castiel had never felt so conflicted. Every part of him told him he should try to run again, but he supposed that was a lie…because not every part did. It felt so nice when he touched him, and he was already more than half hard and both of them knew it. There was a very noticeable dampness building at the front of his pants, too. It wasn’t like Castiel was ignorant; he knew it was, more or less. He’d woken many atimes to a vague dampness and an erection (or sometimes just a lot of dampness), but he found neither of these to be pressing matters and merely cleaned himself up and wait for it to go away. But it had never been given so much…attention.

“You get wet like a girl. I bet I can make you squeal like one, too.” Dean goaded, and suddenly his hand was gone and he was no longer pressing his weight against him. All too soon did he miss this, and the intense hot desire boiling in his abdomen seemed ever more present.

 

                Dean dug his claws into his hips as he knelt down, keeping him pushed against the altar while he ran his tongue along the front of his pants. It was hot and wet, with his breath puffing damply against the cloth. It was nice, but at the same time, not enough. He couldn’t tell him that, though…he needed to stop, but he really didn’t want him to, anymore. He kept his teeth fastened to his lip, doing the best he could to try to muffle the noises his body kept trying to make. He mouthed at his cock through the fabric, but only briefly before he was yanking his pants down. Castiel watched as he extended that forked tongue and dragged it along the underside of his glans.

 

                He let out a sudden shuddering gasp, covering his mouth with his hand as his other went to push Dean’s head away. But he found himself merely threading his fingers through the dark hair, watching as Dean lapped at his cock. Every time it dragged along his skin it had the intensity of fire and lightning; it was hot, and it sent light shockwaves through his body. He assumed this was not normal, and this had something to do with what Dean was. This became more apparent when the demon’s tongue seemed to extend, wrapping around his entire member with more flexibility that should be possible. It was so hot and pulsing as he pulled backwards, getting him from almost every side and he cried out. A breathless, moaning gasp that he immediately regretted the minute he did.

 

                He bit the back of his fist, huffing air from behind his hand as he felt tears well up in his eyes and begin to languidly trickle down his face. Before he knew it, Dean was eye level to him, again. His hand cupping his cheek, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb.

“Don’t cry, child.” Dean said, holding his face tightly. “If you like I could wipe the guilt from your mind.”

“Could you not just leave?”

“I’m afraid I cannot…But I am giving you the chance at happiness…You don’t need the Maker to be happy. Not to mention if I leave you now, you are stuck with this,” Dean said, his hand trailing down the black tunic before gripping at his erection. He slid his hand along the base before pushing his thumb beneath the glans. He let out an almost mournful whimper, but it felt nice…

“Do you like the way this feels?”

“Yes…” Castiel mumbled, octave a little higher as Dean took another stroke at him.

“You want this to stop? You never want to feel this again?”

“I-I don’t know…”

“I can give this to you, for eternity. If you’ll only just worship me, and only me. I can make you live forever and I can do anything you want; be anything you want.”

“Please…” Castiel swallowed, not quite sure what the next words should be from his mouth, but he whimpered a shameful, “I need more…”

“Then you won’t need _these_ ,” Dean said, and using his claws cut slits from where his pants met his boots on his lower thighs, to the top of his hips. He pulled them from his form, shredded, leaving him in the long tunic and high boots. He slid the fabric away from his lower half, grabbing him by the hips as he hauled him onto the altar.

 

                Dropping between his legs again, Dean hauled him forward by his hips so that he was nearly off of the altar, hooking his legs over his shoulders as he ran another stripe down the desperate, needy cock in front of him. Shifting downwards until he was at his lower entrance, dragging his tongue roughly across the area. He drew in a gasping, shaking breath as his body tensed, unused to such attention. Like before it was very hot, with the same pulses of pleasure moving through the area. He repeated the action, several times, steadily ramping up the pleasure each time. His breathing came out stuttering pants, catching in his throat with every other breath. He found his fingers threaded in his hair again, moving around the thick horns. Desperately pulling his head closer, wanting; needing more. Rolling his hips against his tongue, a silent plea ringing in his brain but all that came out were needy, breathless whines.

 

                He worked his tongue inside of him, slick, hot and wet inside of him, writhing on the inside and giving him a feeling he’d never felt before. It was pleasurable, but at the same time strange. After a good few moments of working his tongue inside of him, he was rising again to face him. His hand reaching between his legs, rubbing his fingers against the area in a gentle, circular motion.

“I’m going to make you scream…” Dean said, grinning at him again. “And you won’t be able to go without this ever again.”

Castiel only whimpered helplessly and spread his legs, his heart pounding in his chest now and the only thing on his mind being _more_. It was shameful how fast he’d fallen to this demon’s plan, but he’d opened him up to things he’d never felt before, and it wasn’t enough. There was a fire roaring in his body, only growing larger by the minute and he needed relief…release, more of what Dean was offering him. It was itch that _needed_ to be scratched, and he could not dream of pushing him away now.

 

                He heard the sound of metal jingling as it moved, as Dean undid the jeweled covers in front of him. It dropped to the floor with a harsh, clanging noise as he stepped forward, spitting on his hand and running it along what Castiel assumed was his own cock, not really looking or watching. Gripping him by his hips, he pulled him forward again, guiding his legs around his waist. Castiel knew that there would be pain, but he was not prepared for the level of pain as Dean began to push into him.

 

                It burned, it hurt…it was extremely unwelcoming and his body didn’t know how to take it. Every tiny movement; every slight push into his body was nearly agony. His body fought him, clenching around the intrusion and trying to force it out, but of course, it failed. He kept his eyes clenched shut, brows furrowed in pain and lips bitten, trying to ride it out. He gripped the sides of the altar hard, digging his fingers into the fabric of the cloth that lay over it. Before he knew it, there was stillness, and he opened his eyes to a few stray tears that fled down his face, partially from pain, but mostly from how tightly he had kept his eyes closed.

“The first time is always hard,” Dean said, wiping one of the stray tears away again. “But it is a pain you will come to ignore in time.”

 

                Dean moved suddenly within him, drawing out only a small fraction before pushing back in. It was too soon, and his body fought him again, but as he continued to make these small movements, he could feel his body starting to understand that this is something he wanted to happen. The thrusts became easier, and the pain was lessened. Now the main focus was just how filled he felt, and how abnormal it felt. At first, after the pain diminished, it almost felt like an incessant need to use the bathroom, but he realized this was all false.

 

He was beginning to wonder why anyone would voluntarily do this, as it seemed more uncomfortable than pleasurable. The more rhythm he built up, though, the more things were starting to feel right. It brushed against all of his nerves, and with each quick succession of thrusts, the pleasure ramped up, just like it had when Dean used his tongue. His breath hitched with every other thrust, reveling in the way his cock sent those same shockwaves and made him feel filled with that pleasant, nearly dull magma-like warmth.

"If you're ready, I can make this even better," Dean said, running his hand up Castiel's thigh.

"How?" He asked, voice wavering a bit as he shifted and managed to vaguely stimulate himself.   

"There's a lot of nerves here..." Dean said, gripping him by the hips and pulling him a little closer, while he angled his own so that his member was angled upwards.

He drew backwards a bit, then pushed forward, angled towards the top of his passage. A continued few hitches of breath, a soft whimper, a series of panting breaths…and then suddenly, he couldn’t help but to cry out a noise that almost seemed wounded. A deep intake of breath that fled out in a shaking moan, probably loud enough to wake the Revered Mother, but at the time he didn’t care. It was sudden, sharp and almost painfully good. A pleasant feeling that almost spread through his body, his stomach suddenly tensing from the feeling.

 

                Dean let out a pleased hum, repeating the action that only caused Castiel to repeat the noise, tightening his legs around Dean’s waist as his fingers dug into the cloth. The situation suddenly became more dire and desperate. Every nerve felt like it was firing off inside of him, his body trembling as Dean slowed himself and Castiel let out a wounded breath. A hum of pleasure that caught in his throat, and he felt like he was losing control of himself. Never before had he needed something so much at once. Never before had there been this much desire built in his soul. Not for food, not for sleep…this was something different. It was almost frightening how badly he wanted it.

 

                With each soft brush against that bundle of nerves; each shock of pleasure that reverberated through the area, he felt more and more relaxed. His body more yielding, accepting longer, harder thrusts that rocked him against the altar, eventually knocking one of the remaining objects from it; a smile shrine-like object depicting the symbol of Andraste. It clattered to the floor, but went ignored as Dean continued to pound him into the altar. It only added to the breathless moans that fled from his lips, as he wrapped his legs tightly around Dean’s waist. It was no longer gentle, soft brushes. It was rough, unyielding barrages against the area that was driving him mad. His body felt tense enough that it could probably implode right now and it wouldn’t be surprising. It choked off the moans that fled from his body, left him gasping for air like he was drowning. A pleasure so intense it felt like it was killing him.

 

“You’re so close, beautiful…” Dean said, his voice rough and breathless. “Will you come for me? I want to watch you,”

Dean suddenly took hold of one of the hands gripping so tightly at the edge of the altar, and it was almost terrifying for a moment. He took it, wrapped his own hand around his cock while it lay against his stomach. Guided his fingers around it and pushed his thumb beneath the glans, and Castiel pleaded with him; for what, he didn’t know, but a few desperate ‘pleases’ escaped him.

“You’re almost there…I want you to feel it,” Dean said, pushing at his thumb again as he gave a hard thrust forward.

 

                In that moment he felt like he was falling, and he practically sobbed as he came. His body tense, shaking and trembling as stars spun behind his eyes, and his head swam. He could feel his cock pulsing in his hand while the hot fluid spilled across his hand and Dean’s. It was a pleasure that came over and over, wave after wave as each small spurt of come washed over him. Sending warmth through his belly, that tensed with each small wave while his thighs shook around Dean’s hips. His body was slowly relaxing, and it was still almost like he was falling, into such utter bliss and contentment that he could fall asleep right there. He was still dazed when he felt heat spilling deep into him, and before he knew it Dean was pulling out of him.

 

                He whimpered slightly as he suddenly felt so gaping and empty, his passage still trying to return to normal despite the trickles of come spilling down onto his tailbone. He scooted back onto the altar, dragging his legs up and hugging them for a moment, still trembling and trying to regain his breathing. He felt so unclean, but at the same time relaxed.

“My offer still stands…” Dean said, putting the sparse genital covering back over his hips. “You can worship me, and I will give you this for eternity. You will know happiness, shelter and warmth, just as you do here.”

Castiel swallowed, letting out a breath as he looked to him. “You say you won’t possess me…why? How am I to trust that you won’t find an even more pleasing _companion_ than me, and let another demon use my body?”

“Just because I am a demon doesn’t mean I can’t be loyal. I can say with honesty, that out of all of the Chantry’s members, you are the most beautiful to me, and you are who I want. To share my bed, to be my companion. To live with me forever.”

 

                Castiel felt a pain in his heart and soul; a great dilemma that made him feel ill inside. The Chantry had given him food and shelter, and in exchange he had devoted himself to them and the Maker. To go back on his word; to betray those that had helped him when he was in need, it was something that the mere thought of made him ill deep in the pit of his stomach. But to stay, and continue this devotion…he knew that if he did, he would only be left wondering what could have been. He’d be left wanting, and he’d probably be left wanting until the day he died. But if he went with this demon, who was offering him not only shelter and food, but companionship, happiness, and from the way he talked…eternal life. Did he want to die, wanting more?

“I accept your terms…”

“You’ve made a good choice,” Dean said, his hand sliding to his hips and pulling him forward, off of the altar. Castiel nearly fell, his legs suddenly feeling like jelly, and had to hold onto the demon until he could right himself. He was glad that his tunic was long, as he was now dressed in nothing but it, the high pair of boots, and an amulet.

 

                Placing his hand on Castiel’s cheek, Dean brought him in for another kiss, that only drifted downwards until it was at his shoulder. There was a sudden sharp pain; a bite, that sunk deep into his flesh. He cried out, feeling as though venom was spreading through his veins. Burning like lava, feeling like death creeping through his body. But the pain subsided, and left him with a strange sense of calm and euphoria.

“You’re mine now…I didn’t necessarily need to bite you to give you my gift, but I want to make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Castiel was about to protest, when Dean’s body suddenly became enveloped with a thick, black smoke, which faded until he was standing there as the man that had come in looking for shelter from the storm. He took his hand, opened the door to the Chantry, and led him out into the storm. Where they were going, he couldn’t be sure, but he would brave the rain for this chance at eternal happiness.

 

Art:

 

Castiel:

 

 

Dean's deceiving form:

 

 

Dean's actual form:

 

 

The chantry entrance, and the sex altar:

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%


End file.
